


Burnt with Dream and Taut with Fear

by nm_317



Category: Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: Clothed Sex, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-26
Updated: 2013-07-26
Packaged: 2017-12-21 09:09:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/898494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nm_317/pseuds/nm_317
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three moments after filming during series 19.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burnt with Dream and Taut with Fear

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t know which order they filmed segments of series 19, so I ordered them the way I wanted, to make the story I wanted. Also, whether it’s true or not, for purposes of this story, Jeremy’s always been completely faithful.

**Africa**  
  
James can’t sleep. The Army cot in his Volvo isn’t the most comfortable thing in the world, but it’s a fluffy pillow-top mattress with 600 thread count sheets compared to their sleeping conditions in the Arctic, so it’s not the problem.  
  
Jeremy. Jeremy is the problem. Or, rather, the way James can’t stop worrying about him.  
  
There’s a low light coming from Jeremy’s BMW, so James knows the other man is still awake. Should he?  
  
He lies there for a while longer, reciting poetry in his head, trying to remember every obscure fact he’d learnt about wine from Oz, until finally he gives up. With a sigh, James opens his Volvo and climbs out. The rest of camp is dark, everyone else wisely already asleep, or at least trying.  
  
James taps on the BMW’s passenger-side rear window, right next to Jeremy’s head. “Jesus! What the…? May, is that you?” Jeremy calls out from inside.  
  
“Unlock it,” James mouths, hoping Jeremy can see him, before crossing in front of the car and trying the driver’s door. It opens.  
  
James slides inside, wincing at the loud clunk the door makes as he pulls it shut behind me.  
  
“I was sleeping, May,” Jeremy grumbles, then reaches to the side and pauses his film.  
  
“You weren’t, Jeremy. You’re watching a DVD. I could see the light.”  
  
“I could have fallen asleep in the middle of it,” Jeremy protests weakly.  
  
“But you and I both know you didn’t.” James finally turns in his seat, angling toward Jeremy, the weak glow cast on Jeremy’s face by the DVD player making the already tired man look even more exhausted, the skin on his bare collarbone and shoulders nearly translucent.  
  
They’re both silent for a moment, before Jeremy sighs tiredly. “What do you want, James? Finally notice the hole I put in your bonnet and have come to tell me off?”  
  
“No. I mean, yes, I noticed. Don’t worry,” he chuckles wearily, “I’ll yell on camera when I ‘find it’ again in the morning.”  
  
“Then…? Why are you here when you should be dreaming about your tools, or your piano?”  
  
James rubs the bridge of his nose and briefly regrets getting out of his car. He isn’t good at this, should have just talked to Wilman, or Hammond, in the morning and got one of them to take care of it. But then he looks at Jeremy, sees past the anger and the sorrow that’s been there more days than not lately, and sees something else. It looks like hope.  
  
“What’s wrong?” he asks, finally. “It’s not what I did to your car, you were never really mad about that.”  
  
“Yes I was,” Jeremy answers, stubborn to the end.  
  
“For about thirty seconds you were, sure. But then you thought about what it would look like when we edited it, how you’d get another chance take the piss out of ‘James and his tools and his OCD,’ and you started writing narration in your head.  
  
“But you haven’t let up all evening. You’ve been rude to me, you….”  
  
“You want an  _apology_?!” Jeremy splutters in astonishment.  
  
“Shh. Keep it down, you oaf. Let’s not wake the entire continent. No, I don’t want an apology. I haven’t got one in ten years, I certainly don’t expect one now. But you snapped at  _Wilman_  for christ’s sake, and….” He sighs and ducks his head, fiddling with the cuff of his shirtsleeve as he continues, “You’ve been miserable for weeks, Jez. Everyone’s just…pretending everything’s fine, but it’s obviously not.”  
  
“You’re here to tell me off for fucking up the show?!  _You_ , who I swear to god, sometimes goes weeks without saying anything inter—”  
  
“Clarkson!”  
  
Jeremy, probably surprised at the bark in James’ voice, shuts his mouth with a click of teeth.  
  
“The show is great, Jez, I’m not talking about the show. I’m talking about you staying in London instead of going home to Chipping Norton, but still never coming out for a beer or to dinner or to watch a film; I’m talking about, lately, the way you sometimes just…shut down…and no one can reach you; about the way….”  
  
“Okay, I get the point. Please stop.” Jeremy rolls onto his back, the sheet slipping down his chest, and covers his eyes with his hand.  
  
“I understand if you don’t want to talk to me about whatever’s bothering you – god knows this isn’t what I’m best at – but I think you should talk to Richard, or Andy, or, or someone.”  
  
“I – I think Francie is leaving me.” The sentence is a nearly-incoherent mumble, but it breaks James’ heart to hear.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Right now. Or, rather, I think she’ll be kicking me out. I think when I get home, I’ll find divorce papers on the kitchen table, and all my things in boxes.”  
  
He'd suspected it was something to do with Francie, but James would never have guessed it had got this bad already. "Jesus, Jez, I'm sorry."  
  
"Yeah." He blinks rapidly, and James tries to ignore the tears he sees fall, then Jeremy rolls over onto his stomach with a grunt, pillowing his head on his folded arms.  
  
James picks at the skin around his thumbnail and wonders if he wants to press further. He doesn't have to think long, as Jeremy begins to speak, his voice gravely with exhaustion and stress.  
  
"Everything fell apart so fast. I - it wasn't cheating, or...she just got tired of, well, of me. Of me being away so often and being in a shit mood when I wasn't, or.... I can't blame her, I just wish she'd  _said_  something, given me a chance to fix it. I – I knew things weren’t perfect, but I had no idea she was this unhappy."  
  
James shifts in his seat, muffling the groan he wants to let out as his bones and muscles protest, and turns his head toward his friend, pressing his cheek against the seat’s raggedy seam. "Are you sure she's made up her mind?"  
  
Jeremy shrugs, the movement awkward as he lies there. Then with a sniffly, bitter laugh, he rubs his face and mutters, "Sorry, May."  
  
 _Oh, Jeremy._  James leans closer, reaching behind him until his arm can drape over Jeremy's upper back, his hand curling around a chilled shoulder. It's a clumsy move, made more awkward by the sudden realization that Jeremy is shirtless and lying in bed, and has been this entire time, and now he’s practically holding him. He expects Jeremy to counter the awkwardness with a derisive comment about James' obvious homosexualness, but the other man merely closes his eyes and presses his face against his hand.  
  
"I'm lonely, James," he mumbles softly. "This is the most…human contact…I've had in months. Can you believe that? From Captain Slow?" Jeremy opens his eyes then, softens the statement with an embarrassed smile. "The kids have been away at school, and Francie doesn’t...won’t…." he trails off with a sigh.  
  
"Mate," James whispers between long, slow breaths through his nose. The intimacy of this moment looms over him, makes just sitting here hard, and he does his best not to bolt. Unsure, his fingers move until they're curled around the base of Jeremy's neck, and he squeezes lightly, then rubs over the rough nodule at the top of Jeremy's spine with his thumb. "I wish I were better at this," he says, finally. Maybe the best way to deal with the awkwardness is to admit to it head-on?  
  
Jeremy's lips twitch and he shifts, reaching behind him until James' hand is caught in his. "You're doing fine," he murmurs. It's a quiet, and vague, comment, but there's no doubt in James' mind that Jeremy means it, that James has — somehow — managed to help, if only a bit.  
  
Jeremy drops James' hand and reaches next to him to fiddle with the DVD player. "I - I think I might be able to sleep now."  
  
Now that's a lie, and it's so transparent that James doesn't even comment on it, knows Jeremy is just giving him — them — an out, a chance to step back a bit.  
  
"All right." His hand slips across Jeremy's back as he reaches for the door handle. "See you in the morning, Clarkson."  
  
"G'night, May."  
  
\--  
  
Jeremy's car is empty when James rouses himself from his cot the next morning. He slips on a clean shirt, and yesterday's jeans, and makes the obligatory "beans for breakfast" joke with Richard.  
  
"Have you seen Clarkson?" he asks once he's found Andy.  
  
They share a look, and then each man knows the other knows. "Went for a piss about ten minutes ago," Andy says, waving vaguely toward the trees.  
  
"Thanks."  
  
Jeremy is standing at the edge of the line of trees - one foot on a rock, lit fag in his hand, staring into the distance - when James finds him. Steeling himself, he steps closer until they’re nearly shoulder-to-shoulder. After a brief hesitation, he slides one hand back and forth across the already damp t-shirt on Jeremy’s back.  
  
Jeremy flinches against the touch, and James steps back, hands held up in supplication. “I –”  
  
Jeremy ignores him, stubbing out the fag end against the rock and slipping it into his pocket to dispose of at camp. "Come on, mate. Time to head back for some of Hammond's beans."  
  
  
 **Twickenham Stadium**  
  
It’s rare that Jeremy apologizes, but when he holds his hands up and says, “Sorry, that was a total mistake. My fault” after accidentally driving his Kia into the side of James’ during their game of car rugby, he means it sincerely. Before James schools his features into a look of comedy annoyance, Jeremy can see a flash of genuine pain cross the man’s face.  
  
He tries to apologize again, in person, at the conclusion of the game, but James follows his team directly to the locker room, while Jeremy has to remain on the pitch to film a piece to camera.  
  
It isn’t until he turns a corner in the locker room and sees that James is still there, tying his shoe, that he’s entirely aware how vehemently he’d wanted – needed — to find him. “James,” he gasps.  
  
“Run all the way across the pitch, did you, Clarkson? I thought the point of playing sport with cars was so we didn’t have to break a sweat.” James can’t quite hide a wince when he finally stands, reaching into the locker for his leather jacket.  
  
“I really am sorry. I stopped paying attention for just a second, and I – I didn’t mean to ram you like that.” Jeremy moves closer, eyes on James as if to convince the other man he’s serious, and stops in front of the locker his own clothes are in.  
  
“All right,” James answers, his brow creased in confusion. “This isn’t all from that one hit. I think my body kept tensing up every time anyone got close.”  
  
“Still.”  
  
“Nothing a hot bath and a couple days rest can’t cure.”  
  
“Or a backrub,” Jeremy responds with a waggle of his eyebrows, finally dropping onto the bench in front of the locker.  
  
“Hmm.” James looks down at his hands as they fidget with the two ends of his zip. “I don’t think that’ll be happening. Sarah – Sarah and I have split up.”  
  
“Oh fuck, James.”  
  
“Yeah, well…” he pauses as if unsure whether to continue, then says, “I guess I’ve joined you in the realm of the single man.”  
  
Jeremy smiles weakly, if only to assure James it’s okay to mention. “Takeaway then, at yours? I’ll pick up the beer?”  
  
Finally James smiles. “Sounds good, Jez.”  
  
\--  
  
James must hear him drive up, because the other man opens the door before he has a chance to get soaked by the steady rain again. “Thanks.”  
  
“This is what you bought?!” James asks in disgust as he takes one of the bags from Jeremy’s hands.  
  
“That one’s for me. I do know what you drink, May.”  
  
“Oh, excellent,” James exclaims, pulling the other bag open and peering inside. “The curry won’t be here for another fifteen minutes or more. They’re swamped; I think no one wants to go outside in this torrential downpour.”  
  
“You shower, then.” Jeremy toes his shoes off and hangs up his jacket.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Hot shower. Go. Get the kinks out. I’ll get the door when the food gets here.”  
  
\--  
  
James is wearing pajama bottoms and a worn t-shirt with a hole in the sleeve, hair damp and mussed, when he steps into the kitchen just as Jeremy is finishing dishing up their plates. They’ve slept within feet of each other dozens of times, but Jeremy has never seen him like this before. He can’t help but look, and then look again.  
  
“What is it?” James asks, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t put on the ones with the hole in the crotch, did I?”  
  
“No, I just – never mind. Do you feel better?”  
  
“A bit, yeah. Thanks.”  
  
They eat on the sofa, in front of the television playing a repeat of  _Mock the Week_. Jeremy’s seen it already, so he watches James out of the corner of his eye. James picks listlessly at his food and is only halfway through his first beer when Jeremy cracks open his third.  
  
“Want to talk about it?” he finally asks, never sure the best way to get James to open up about something, or whether it’s even possible.  
  
James sighs. “She was offered a great job in Paris, and I – I didn’t want to leave London. We talked about trying to make it work long distance, but then I think we both realized: we were trying to make it work because that’s what was expected. But it wasn’t really what either of us wanted.”  
  
James picks at the corner of the label of his beer bottle, begins to pull back the paper. “We don’t hate each other – hell, we still love each other – I guess we’re just not  _in love_  anymore. Hadn’t been for a while, only we’d never really noticed. Being together was just…what we’d done for so long, it felt like what we were supposed to do, even when it wasn’t, you know?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Shit, Jezza, I….”  
  
Jeremy waves his hand dismissively until James quiets. “It’s fine. Just because I have my own problems doesn’t make yours hurt you any less. And anyway, I asked.”  
  
“How, um, how are the kids?” James still stares down at his bottle, having managed to peel the label half off without it ripping.  
  
Jeremy rubs a hand across his face. “They’re good. Honestly, they still probably see me about as often as before, and now Francie and I aren’t fighting as much.” Determined to shake himself out of the sudden melancholy he’s experiencing, Jeremy stands, knees creaking, and grabs both his plate as well as James’. “Finished?”  
  
“Yeah. Thanks.”  
  
When he returns to the kitchen, Jeremy stands in the doorway, watching James. The other man has abandoned his label peeling three-quarters done and seems intent on staring at the darkness out the window.  
  
He continues staring even as Jeremy sets a new bottle of beer on the end table and moves to stand behind him. Jeremy can’t help but remember how wonderful it had felt in Africa when James touched him, how the persistent ache for affection he’d been feeling had finally dimmed, only to come roaring back once they’d landed in Heathrow and no one was there to greet him. It couldn’t be more obvious, even to a casual observer, how different Jeremy and James are; but they can’t possibly be so different that he can’t make James feel the same.  
  
Can they?  
  
With a quiet sigh, Jeremy sets his hands gingerly on James’ shoulders. Instead of flinching, or tensing up, the other man tilts his head back against the sofa and raises his upside-down eyebrows.  
  
Jeremy shrugs his shoulders. “Earlier, when I said a backrub would probably feel nice, I didn’t necessarily mean a  _dirty_  backrub.”  
  
“You did, though.” James’ inverted smile is nearly as welcome to see as the real one. “You did that thing with your eyebrows.”  
  
“Okay, well, that’s what I meant, but…. That doesn’t change the fact that a regular one might still feel pretty good.”  
  
Jeremy watches James’ chest rise and fall as he takes a deep breath. “Are you offering?” Jeremy nods. “Why?”  
  
“You’re in pain, and that’s at least partly my fault. And I can help.”  
  
James blinks a few times, then, to Jeremy’s surprise, merely says, “Okay” and lifts his head and budges up in his seat.  
  
Jeremy doesn’t want to admit he really doesn’t know what he’s doing here. He can’t remember the last time he’d given a backrub without expecting it to lead to sex, and never to another man. “Where does it hurt most?”  
  
“Here,” James answers, squeezing a handful of shoulder just to the left of his neck.  
  
Jeremy begins there, drawing delicate circles with his thumbs. The muscle is knotted and tense below his hands. “Tell me if I hurt you,” he murmurs.  
  
“Mmm. Feels good.”  
  
He presses harder, drawing a gasp from James. “Okay?”  
  
“Yeah. Don’t stop. Please.”  
  
 _Fuck._  James’ voice – deep, quiet, and intense – in this situation, is causing a tingle in his spine.  
  
He can’t fancy his best friend. He just can’t.  
  
He continues working on that knot, his fingers kneading and squeezing, but no more sounds make their way past James’ lips. Jeremy can see the way his fingers clench and twist at his trouser legs, and he wonders briefly whether James is experiencing the same worries.  
  
 _Bollocks. He’s just realized how awkward it is for a straight man to make porno sounds while his mate rubs his shoulders, and he’s doing his best to be silent so I don’t take the piss or stop what I’m doing._  
  
Jeremy could probably spend hours soothing away this one knot, but eventually he moves on, finding more spots of tension, alleviating pain along the entire width of his shoulders. Feeling the other man relax, bit by bit, beneath his normally useless hands makes Jeremy feel powerful and, perhaps, even a bit wanted.  
  
Despite James’ silence, the tingle in Jeremy’s spine spreads until a warmth develops in his chest, and it’s nearly all he can do to keep his hands from roaming, from seeing exactly how good being near James can make him feel.  
  
He’s gentler once he reaches James’ neck, resigned to knowing this can’t last much longer, carefully caressing the bumps of his spine underneath his t-shirt and the long, graceful length of his neck. His hair tickles the backs of Jeremy’s hands as he rubs tiny circles along the base of his skull.  
  
Eventually, his hands come to rest on James’ shoulders. “It’s getting late,” he says, because he isn’t sure what else to say.  
  
“It is,” James agrees, then the warm skin under Jeremy’s palms is gone as the other man stands. He stretches his arms over his head, groaning, a thin strip of pale belly peeking out underneath his shirt. “Gaahd. I feel much better, Clarkson, thank you, really. Who knew your hands were actually useful for something other than destruction?”  
  
“I’ll have you know I have very talented hands,” he brags, sliding his hands inside his trouser pockets to prevent them twitching.  
  
A flush appears on James’ cheeks, and he ducks his head. Jeremy mentally files the sight away. “Well, congratulations to your future girlfriends, I guess.” He picks Jeremy’s still unopened beer off the table. “You staying? You may as well, and I can do breakfast in the morning.”  
  
“Sure, thanks.”  
  
“No problem,” James murmurs as he brushes past Jeremy and returns the beer to the refrigerator.  
  
Jeremy follows him up the stairs. Just before James disappears into his bedroom, he stops, leaning against the doorjamb, one foot inside his room. Jeremy pauses as well, gives James a bit to say what’s on his mind. The other man is silent for a moment, then reaches tentatively in Jeremy’s direction before dropping his hand. Jeremy watches the hand squeeze into a tight fist at James’ side and hopes he’s got this right.  
  
“May?”  
  
“Hmm?” James’ eyes glance briefly in his direction before darting away.  
  
“That morning in Africa, when I - when I pushed you away? I’m sorry. And – I’m not even,” he sighs, “I’m not even sure why I did.” He clears his throat nervously. “I regretted it almost instantly.”  
  
James’ eyes widen for a moment. Then, after what looks to be a bit of consideration, he reaches again for Jeremy, this time curling one hand around his elbow. “I think you’ve apologized more today than in all the rest of the time I’ve known you. I only wish I knew why.”  
  
Jeremy snorts softly. “I’m not really sure why, either.” Then for good measure, “Sorry.”  
  
Jeremy isn’t sure how long it’s been since he’s heard that seal’s bark of a laugh, but it’s been too long. When only a wheezy chuckle is left, James says, “Well, I’m not going to waste my time angry that you’re being nice to me. Good night, Jez. If you’re still a girl in the morning, we can talk about it then.”  
  
He steps into his room as if in retreat, but Jeremy can’t help but notice the way he stokes his thumb along Jeremy’s skin before letting go.  
  
“Night, Slow.”  
  
  
 **Milan**  
  
James slips it in as they’re dissecting the race and everyone’s talking over everyone else. “Do you fancy some nice dinner?”  
  
Jeremy doesn’t react, just continues teasing Richard about his football tickets. When they’re the last ones left at the table and the cameras have been packed away, James stops Jeremy with a hand on his arm. “I – I was serious about the dinner,” he mumbles quietly, his other hand rubbing anxiously at the back of his neck.  
  
Jeremy exhales loudly and scrubs his hand roughly over the back of his head.  
  
“If, if you don’t want to,” James says hurriedly, “we can find the hotel bar and—”  
  
“Yes,” Jeremy interrupts.  
  
“You – yes?”  
  
James eyes fixate on the way Jeremy’s adam’s apple bob as he swallows nervously. Then he nods, his eyes lit up with an excitement James hasn’t seen in months.  
  
“No – no pressure,” James assures him. “Just….”  
  
“We’ll see what happens?” Jeremy suggests.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
\--  
  
After checking in to the hotel and changing clothes – and dinner can’t be that nice as neither of them has packed anything better than jeans and a button-down — they meet in the lobby.  
  
“There’s supposed to be a nice place a couple of blocks from here,” James offers as they exit the lobby. Unsure what to do with his hands, he slips them into his pockets.  
  
“Sounds good,” Jeremy says, the words coming out in an uncharacteristic croak. James watches the flush creep up his cheeks as he clears his throat and looks everywhere other than at James.  
  
James “accidentally” bumps his elbow against the other man, giving him a bright smile when he looks up. The smile is returned, along with an eye roll, and Jeremy visibly relaxes.  
  
“You, uh, you found a restaurant beforehand?”  
  
“Yeah, it – it’s too hard at home, trying to….” James blows air out his pursed lips. “Trying to suggest something, and not have it automatically diminish into takeaway or beer at my local.” He snorts. “Or having Richard find out and invite himself along.”  
  
“Shit, James, I’m sorry. I didn’t know….”  
  
“My fault. I could barely get up the courage to ask you, never mind correct you when you misunderstood.”  
  
“Surely you realized the massive flaw in your plan?”  
  
“That you would win the race? Yeah, I was sure this wouldn’t happen and I’d have to….”  
  
“Grow a pair?” Jeremy suggests with a laugh.  
  
It’s so tempting to counter with a suggestive joke, but scaring Jeremy off is the last thing he wants to do. Instead, he smiles sheepishly and gestures ahead of them. “I think we’re here.”  
  
\--  
  
They’re both starving, so dinner begins as usual: discussing the menu and deciding on their meals, then digging vigorously into their food when it arrives. When their hunger begins to subside, they start eating slower and talking more.  
  
“So,” Jeremy begins, while absently running a finger along the stem of his wine glass, “how – how long have you been…?”  
  
James raises an eyebrow. “Bisexual?”  
  
Jeremy sucks in a sharp breath and begins to cough. “I’m fine,” he gasps after a moment, then takes a gulp of wine. “I, uh, I guess I should have suspected that.”  
  
“So that wasn’t what you were asking?” James’ palms are sweaty, and he tries to wipe them surreptitiously on the leg of his jeans under the table.  
  
“I meant ‘how long have you been thinking about this?’, but you can answer either.”  
  
James takes a deep breath and clasps his hands on the table in front of him. “I – I’ve known I’m bisexual since I was, oh, thirteen or so.” Jeremy pulls his bottom lip between his teeth as he listens and nods for James to continue. “But – but I’ve never…actually….”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
James shrugs and feels his face heat up. “There have been a few times I’ve wanted to, but…” he looks up and makes sure he has Jeremy’s attention, “it’s never seemed worth the risk. Until now.”  
  
The shy grin on Jeremy’s face is something new, and wonderful to behold.  
  
“And, as for – for me?”  
  
James grins. “Remember when we built the Caterham kit car?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Remember when you put the seats in? And you used a hammer because you said they hadn’t lined the bolts up properly?”  
  
“And then I put the other seat in backwards?”  
  
“Exactly.”  
  
Jeremy’s face wrinkles in confusion. “And that made you…?”  
  
“You were so utterly useless, and we were bickering about everything—”  
  
“This isn’t making me sound great so far.”  
  
“— and even still, I – I just wanted to be near you. I couldn’t help but smile at your ridiculousness. And when we finally got it running….”  
  
“I almost hugged you then,” Jeremy remembers.  
  
“I wanted you to, and yet I was terrified that you would. With – with everyone around, and the cameras? I wouldn’t have handled it well.”  
  
Under the table, Jeremy reaches out and rests a hand on James’ knee. “So you wanted me because I was rubbish.”  
  
“That – that was just when I knew I could fall for you. If I let myself. That – that you were the one that I’d…take the risk for.”  
  
The hand on James’ knee squeezes. “I’m scared, James.”  
  
“I know. God knows so am I. But ‘we’ll see what happens,’ remember?”  
  
\--  
  
“Coming in?” James asks after they’ve made their way back to the hotel and are standing outside his room. It’s still early – Richard probably isn’t even back from the football game yet – and the rest of the crew are most likely out getting clattered on foreign alcohol.  
  
Jeremy hesitates, then answers, “Yeah, ‘course,” and follows James into his room.  
  
James drops his keys and wallet onto the dresser then looks up to find Jeremy staring uneasily at the bed. “Jezza?”  
  
“I – you just have a regular room. Not a suite.”  
  
James snorts. “Yeah. Iain got to the front desk before me, told them ‘room for May,’ and stole it again.”  
  
“You shouldn’t let him get away with that, May.”  
  
“I wouldn’t if I cared. What do I need so much extra space for? To lose all my things?”  
  
“Right.”  
  
“Is there a problem?”  
  
“What? No. Just – just no sofa.”  
  
Just a bed. And two very uncomfortable looking desk chairs.  _Oh._  
  
“We can go to your room, if you like?” James lays a hesitant hand on Jeremy’s upper arm.  
  
“No. No. This is fine.”  
  
“All right. Want anything to drink?”  
  
“No thank you.” Still Jeremy doesn’t move.  
  
James leans against the desk, curls his hands over the edge to stop them from fidgeting. “Jez?”  
  
Jeremy exhales loudly and tugs at the hair on the back of his head as he paces to the window and back. “I – I think I want to kiss you.” He chuckles. “But I’m a little bit fucking terrified.”  
  
James smiles in acknowledgement, his own heart pounding in his chest so loudly it’s a wonder Jeremy doesn’t say something about it. “I imagine it’s similar to kissing a woman.”  
  
“No - I mean, you’re probably right, but that’s not what I’m worried about.”  
  
James looks down at the floor, toes a circle on the carpet. “Before today, had you – had you ever thought about this? About us?”  
  
“That night after the car rugby. Touching you felt…I don’t know how to describe it, I just wanted more of it.”  
  
James lifts his eyes, needing to see Jeremy’s face when he answers his next question. “Is that because you’re lonely? Or because you – you like me?”  
  
“Bit of both.”  
  
“Well, thank you for being honest, I guess.”  
  
“James.” The other man steps closer, rests his hand on James’ arm. “If it were just loneliness, I wouldn’t dare risk what we already have, just for--. And if I weren’t lonely…I wouldn’t be brave enough to admit what I feel.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
The big body in front of James leans toward him then stops then leans again. “Jez?”  
  
“Don’t – don’t move, all right?”  
  
James is about to ask why when his face becomes framed in large, dry palms, Jeremy looking down at him intently, considering. Then Jeremy mumbles something indecipherable under his breath and leans in, pressing his lips against James’.  
  
 _Oh. Yes._  
  
The other man’s lips are chapped, but gentle, tinged with the taste of their dinner wine and after-dinner fag. Hesitantly, unsure if he’s supposed to move yet, James’ hands come up to Jeremy’s shoulders, his fingers dipping inside the collar of his shirt to warm skin.  
  
“James,” Jeremy breathes as he pulls back for air. “Yes, this – this is what I want.”  
  
“Fantastic,” James answers with a grin.  
  
Jeremy snorts, a warm burst of air that brushes against James’ neck. Trembling fingers trace along James’ jaw, pushing a lock of hair behind his ear.  
  
“Whatever you want, Jez,” James reassures him, fingers brushing along the skin exposed by Jeremy’s shirt.  
  
“I – this is stupid, but…it’s been over 20 years since I’ve been with anyone else. I, I’m a bit out of practice, and—”  
  
“It’s not stupid.”  
  
Jeremy nods, looking appreciative – and a little braver - and takes James’ hand in his, intertwining their fingers. “My back’s sore from that car. C’mon, bed.”  
  
After a little bit of pillow arranging, both men lie on their sides, facing each other.  
  
“This better for your back, old man?” James teases, fingers once again finding the bit of chest peeking out Jeremy’s shirt, hiding in that wiry hair.  
  
“Much, actually.”  
  
James watches the way Jeremy’s eyes flick between James’ own eyes and his lips and can’t help but smile and lean in. Jeremy catches on quickly, meeting him halfway, and then they’re kissing. Again. Wow.  
  
James shifts until he’s on his back and Jeremy follows, propped up on an elbow so he can hover over him, lips still pressed together. James’ lips part in invitation and Jeremy accepts, and then they’re tongue to tongue and,  _oh, fuck, Jezza._  
  
James’ hands find the long line of Jeremy’s back, feel the nervous dampness through the fabric, and he seeks to reassure him without words. Then there’s fingers buried in his hair, tugging carefully, and, well, that’s behavior James has to reward immediately to ensure it'll happen again. “Jeremy, fuck, yes,” he gasps, head thrown back in pleasure.  
  
Jeremy chuckles tenderly, murmurs, “Christ, you’re easy,” and nibbles along his jaw line. Then he finds  _that spot,_  and James' fingers claw at the other man’s shoulders.  
  
 _Fuck._  He’s really not this easy. The end of his and Sarah’s relationship was so sudden that they were still having sex until very recently, but it’s just now that he’s realized: It’s been ages since he’s had  _really good_  sex, the kind that presses all his buttons.  
  
And so far this is just fully clothed, horizontal kissing.  
  
“Actual sex with you may prove to be too much,” James whispers when Jeremy pulls back for a moment to make himself more comfortable. He hadn’t meant for the words to slip out, but he can’t regret them when they make Jeremy’s face relax like that.  
  
He can’t say he minds the way it makes the other man chortle and bury his face against James’ chest, either.  
  
He slides his fingers through the sweaty curls on Jeremy’s head as he retorts, “All right. It’s not  _that_  funny, I didn’t think.”  
  
Jeremy lifts his head and grins suggestively. This time, when he moves closer, his leg hooks over James’, his obviously hardening cock pressing against James’ thigh. This knowledge prompts James into action, and he begins tugging Jeremy’s shirt from his trousers as they kiss.  
  
Jeremy pulls back, eyes a bit panicky, breathing hard.  
  
“Just want to untuck your shirt, Jez. Just want to touch you, feel your skin.”  
  
Jeremy nods and helps James pull at his shirt. As soon as he’s able, James slips his hands inside, palms flat against the smooth skin of Jeremy’s back.  
  
James leans up, murmurs, “You feel good,” near Jeremy’s ear.  
  
Jeremy shudders, head falling forward, burying his face in the crook of James’ neck. “James,” he mutters, “shit, James.” Then kisses are being rained along the length of James’ neck, Jeremy’s stubble scratching oh-so-pleasantly against his skin. With the hands on his back, James pulls him closer, legs moving against the bedclothes, hips searching unbidden for some pressure on his cock.  
  
He waits as long as he can, expecting Jeremy to either put a stop to what they’re doing or move them along, but eventually he can’t hold back any longer. He has to say something.  
  
“Jez.  _Oh, fuck, that’s…please…_ ” he’s distracted as Jeremy finds that spot on his neck again. “Hang on a minute, Jeremy.”  
  
“Hmm?”  
  
“I – this is incredible. I – but….”  
  
Jeremy lifts his head, looks worried.  
  
“If this is all you want to happen tonight, that’s wonderful. I – but, I have to stop for a bit, or…or it’s going to start…start getting painful.”  
  
Jeremy chews on his bottom lip for a moment, apparently lost in thought. Then, with a smooth, quick move that belies his size, he throws a leg over both of James’ and hitches himself up until they’re pressed together from chest to belly, to -  _oh, Christ, yes_  - cock, to legs.  
  
“Oh, that’s good,” James murmurs, spreading his legs to let Jeremy’s fall between them, and digging the sides of his knees into Jeremy’s hips.  
  
“Will this be enough?” Jeremy asks, with a careful, hesitant thrust of his hips.  
  
A loud gasp is James’ answer, and Jeremy grins. “Gay sex is  _easy_ ,” he brags, eyes shining.  
  
“You are such an insufferable cock,” James retorts, pressing up with his hips to answer Jeremy’s every downward thrust.  
  
“Mmm-hmm,” Jeremy agrees, the sound nearly lost against James’ lips.  
  
Their hands roam along clothed chests, under Jeremy’s shirt, along the denim of James’ thigh as they kiss and lick and bite and move against each other.  
  
“Fuck. Fuck, yes,” Jeremy groans as James’ hands stray to his arse, helping change the angle and the speed of his hips. “Next time,” he gasps, “no clothes.”  
  
James giggles helplessly, and isn’t it appropriate that that’s the exact time Jeremy presses down perfectly -  _oh so perfect_  - against his aching cock, and he throws his head back and comes for what seems like hours.  
  
The awe on Jeremy’s face looks an awful lot like love, and James tightens his arms around him in answer. “Thank you. Christ, thank you, Jez.”  
  
Feeling bold and invincible, he slides one hand between Jeremy’s legs, caresses the inside of his thigh, and murmurs, “May I?”  
  
“Yes, yes, please.” And then James’ hand is on Jeremy’s crotch, rubbing and squeezing through the denim, pressing kisses against his sweaty face, his other hand curled around his neck. “James, James, fuck. Almost…oh god.”  
  
Jeremy’s face when he comes is simply the most beautiful thing James has ever seen. He thinks briefly about suggesting it as inspiration for carmakers on the next series of  _Top Gear_ , but this is not something he wants to share.  
  
Jeremy slumps tiredly against him, his head resting on James’ chest, James’ legs still wrapped around him.  
  
“All right, then?” James asks, his fingers brushing through damp curls.  
  
“Mmm” is the only answer James gets, but it’s enough. Then Jeremy pushes himself off with a grunt and collapses beside him. “Seriously,” he says, uncharacteristically quiet, “when we get back home, we’re doing this whole thing again – dinner and everything – but at the end of the night, we’re ending up naked.”  
  
James reaches out, splays his hand along Jeremy’s side, not wanting to give up touching just yet. “You have no arguments from me.” He traces along the pattern of Jeremy’s shirt with his index finger, searching for the words he needs to ask something.  
  
“I, uh,” Jeremy interrupts his thinking, “I need to change my pants. And, er,” he glances down, “my trousers. Can – do you mind if—”  
  
“Spend the night with me?” James blurts out.  
  
Jeremy snorts then leans down and kisses the corner of his mouth. “Yeah. I’ll be right back.”  
  
\--  
  
James cleans himself off and changes his clothes, then flips on the telly. He watches half of what appears to be a detective show in Italian, growing more and more anxious by the minute that Jeremy’s changed his mind, before he finally hears a soft tap at the door.  
  
Jeremy stands before him in a fresh pair of jeans and a t-shirt, a pair of rolled-up pajama bottoms tucked under his arm, a bottle of wine and a bag of crisps in his hands.  
  
“Hello,” James greets him, suddenly shy again.  
  
“Hello,” Jeremy repeats, greeting him with a chaste kiss as soon as the door has closed behind him. “Sorry it took so long. Took me a while to find an off-license.”  
  
James smiles and unwraps the plastic drinking cups from the sink and pours the wine. Jeremy settles onto the bed, propped up by a couple of pillows, and begins flipping channels.  
  
“I was watching that, Jez,” James chides, handing Jeremy his cup and sitting next to him.  
  
“Bollocks. You don’t even know Italian.”  
  
James wracks his brain, wading in deep to find the tiny bit of Italian he knows. He knows how to say ‘I love you,’ but Jeremy must do as well, and that’s – that’s probably best left for another time. Soon, maybe, but not now. “Magnifico,” he says finally, running his fingers along the side of Jeremy’s face.  
  
Jeremy raises an untidy eyebrow. “Do you know how to say, ‘you’re clearly delusional,’ in Italian?”  
  
James frowns, and Jeremy placates him with a hand in the center of his chest. Then, “Oh, wait. I need to do something before I forget.” He pulls his mobile out of his pocket and types in a message.  
  
He shows it to James before pressing Send. It’s to Richard.  
  
 _About that friend of Mindy’s you wanted to set me up with? Have thought about it. No thank you mate._  
  
“You don’t have a problem with me sending that, do you?”  
  
James knows what he’s asking and can’t keep the grin off his face. “I really, really don’t.”  
  
“Good.”  
  
It isn’t long before there’s a reply. Jeremy reads it aloud. “All right. Let me know if you change your mind.”  
  
They’re having a minor tussle over the remote control when Jeremy’s mobile buzzes again. “Ha!” he laughs, handing it to James to let him read.  
  
 _Also would this happen to have anything to do with you walking down the hall to James room with pj bottoms under your arm? And wine?_  
  
“You can tell him if you want,” James says, taking a sip of wine to hide his nervousness. “But you don’t have to.”  
  
Jeremy taps out another message and shows it to James.  
  
 _Might do._  
  
Then he presses Send.


End file.
